This could make me unpopular, but I don’t care.
Ready?
I love Ryan Seacrest.
Oh, stop your hissing and booing already. I love him and I don’t care what you think.
I don’t love him like that, anyway. I love him more in concept than application. But I still love him.
Not that I should have to, but I will explain myself.
I love The Seacrest because he is at once equal parts moron and genius. He’s an idiot mastermind. A cunning simpleton. A walking, talking, toothy-grinning oxymoron, and I love it.
Let me break it down for you.
The Seacrest isn’t the best-looking guy in the world. He’s probably not even the best-looking guy in the room (especially if my new TV boyfriend and American Idol hopeful Ace is there).
I mean, standing in my shoes, I have little room to judge, but I’m just saying that by Hollywood standards, he’s — forgive me, but — “just a’ight for me, dawg.” I mean, his hair is blond enough and errs perfectly on just the wrong side of spikyness and he goes to the Mystic booth the correct number of times per week and he makes appropriately spaced appointments with his cosmetic dentist, sure.
But take away his seemingly endless supply of fitted blazers and “vintage” t-shirts, and he’s basically a decent-looking waiter at Friday’s. Like, if The Seacrest was in fact your waiter, you’d say to your friends, “I’m so glad we got this waiter, you guys, instead of that chubby guy who’s sweating into that couple over there’s 120-ounce Margarita.” You see? You wouldn’t totally be knocked dead that The Seacrest is serving your Jack Daniel’s chicken, but he’s definitely better than the sweaty guy who’s carrying a few extra pounds in addition to your order.
You know what I’m talking about.
Oh, also? He’s short. OK, OK, OK, a thousand sad songs played on a thousand tiny violins for all of you short guys out there. I am really, really sorry that you’re not tall enough to date a fully grown woman in heels. My heart bleeds for you. But as a fully grown woman whose only pair of flat shoes is worn to the gym, I cannot endorse short men as desirable. Unless you’re Ben McKenzie. Then? God bless.
The Seacrest is also not the most talented guy in the world. Ever listen to him on the radio or see his talk show? OK, me neither, but I do watch the American Idol program (I vote, too, so get over yourself) and really, he’s not terribly interesting or unique or anything like that. I mean, he’s got a pleasant voice and he seems personable, but I can’t say that he’s exactly going to give Letterman a run for it. Right?
So, you’re thinking, hold the phone, is this bitch crazy? Didn’t she say she loves The Seacrest?
You’re not wrong to wonder, because so far I have done nothing but insult him. And I’m actually starting to feel a bit guilty.
My point, and I do have one...
Despite his shortcomings (no pun intended), The Seacrest is on the most popular reality show in the history of American TV. He has managed to rub elbows with the rich and famous, and even better than that — he has become one of them. With seemingly no recognizable talent, average looks, and a moderate personality, boyfriend is making millions — millions!!! — of dollars a year because of the exact things that you'd think would hold him back.
What the fuck? He's brilliant.
He found a way to market average. And for that, I must admire him.
I gotta say, the man’s got charisma dripping out of his spa-exfoliated pores. That goes a long way. People actually like him more because he’s not all that great. It’s less intimidating.
The reason why he’s so fantastic on the American Idol program is because The Seacrest embodies everything that show is about. The judges are always telling the contestants they need to find a way to market themselves (check), they need to look the part (check), they need to be likeable (check), and they need to come out there every week like their life depends on it and give it 150% or else they're going back to their lives as secretaries or mailmen or waiters at Friday's, as the case may be (check).
The Seacrest knows that he didn’t have much of a chance to be extremely successful without Simon Cowell, either. He’s in the same boat as the contestants. It’s like, really deep if you think about it.
He’s just good-looking enough, just funny enough, and just talented enough to be where he is. But at the same time, he’s the absolute best person for the job that he’s doing. It’s very symbiotic, all this.
You can tell The Seacrest is a hard worker, and I like that. And you can tell he’s got a decent brain in his head, which is clutch.
But what makes him a freaking inspiration is that he shows us all at home that with a few highlights, a trip to H&M, and an assload of determination, anything is possible.
He is the American Dream come to life wearing a tight pair of faded designer jeans.
He makes me feel good. I can’t help it. And yeah, his jokes are one note (but his ad-libs are hee-larious, if a little predictable) and he’s cheesy, but to quote Randy Jackson, he’s working it out. And I think I could learn a lot from him.
In fact, I’d like to meet him. Just to bask in his awesomeness in the hopes that some of that magic might rub off on me.
Next time someone asks me that trite question about who, living or dead, I’d like to have dinner with, I know who I’m picking.
Aah, The Seacrest. You’ve won me over, too!
Go ahead, send me hate mail: [email protected]
Ready?
I love Ryan Seacrest.
Oh, stop your hissing and booing already. I love him and I don’t care what you think.
I don’t love him like that, anyway. I love him more in concept than application. But I still love him.
Not that I should have to, but I will explain myself.
I love The Seacrest because he is at once equal parts moron and genius. He’s an idiot mastermind. A cunning simpleton. A walking, talking, toothy-grinning oxymoron, and I love it.
Let me break it down for you.
The Seacrest isn’t the best-looking guy in the world. He’s probably not even the best-looking guy in the room (especially if my new TV boyfriend and American Idol hopeful Ace is there).
I mean, standing in my shoes, I have little room to judge, but I’m just saying that by Hollywood standards, he’s — forgive me, but — “just a’ight for me, dawg.” I mean, his hair is blond enough and errs perfectly on just the wrong side of spikyness and he goes to the Mystic booth the correct number of times per week and he makes appropriately spaced appointments with his cosmetic dentist, sure.
But take away his seemingly endless supply of fitted blazers and “vintage” t-shirts, and he’s basically a decent-looking waiter at Friday’s. Like, if The Seacrest was in fact your waiter, you’d say to your friends, “I’m so glad we got this waiter, you guys, instead of that chubby guy who’s sweating into that couple over there’s 120-ounce Margarita.” You see? You wouldn’t totally be knocked dead that The Seacrest is serving your Jack Daniel’s chicken, but he’s definitely better than the sweaty guy who’s carrying a few extra pounds in addition to your order.
You know what I’m talking about.
Oh, also? He’s short. OK, OK, OK, a thousand sad songs played on a thousand tiny violins for all of you short guys out there. I am really, really sorry that you’re not tall enough to date a fully grown woman in heels. My heart bleeds for you. But as a fully grown woman whose only pair of flat shoes is worn to the gym, I cannot endorse short men as desirable. Unless you’re Ben McKenzie. Then? God bless.
The Seacrest is also not the most talented guy in the world. Ever listen to him on the radio or see his talk show? OK, me neither, but I do watch the American Idol program (I vote, too, so get over yourself) and really, he’s not terribly interesting or unique or anything like that. I mean, he’s got a pleasant voice and he seems personable, but I can’t say that he’s exactly going to give Letterman a run for it. Right?
So, you’re thinking, hold the phone, is this bitch crazy? Didn’t she say she loves The Seacrest?
You’re not wrong to wonder, because so far I have done nothing but insult him. And I’m actually starting to feel a bit guilty.
My point, and I do have one...
Despite his shortcomings (no pun intended), The Seacrest is on the most popular reality show in the history of American TV. He has managed to rub elbows with the rich and famous, and even better than that — he has become one of them. With seemingly no recognizable talent, average looks, and a moderate personality, boyfriend is making millions — millions!!! — of dollars a year because of the exact things that you'd think would hold him back.
What the fuck? He's brilliant.
He found a way to market average. And for that, I must admire him.
I gotta say, the man’s got charisma dripping out of his spa-exfoliated pores. That goes a long way. People actually like him more because he’s not all that great. It’s less intimidating.
The reason why he’s so fantastic on the American Idol program is because The Seacrest embodies everything that show is about. The judges are always telling the contestants they need to find a way to market themselves (check), they need to look the part (check), they need to be likeable (check), and they need to come out there every week like their life depends on it and give it 150% or else they're going back to their lives as secretaries or mailmen or waiters at Friday's, as the case may be (check).
The Seacrest knows that he didn’t have much of a chance to be extremely successful without Simon Cowell, either. He’s in the same boat as the contestants. It’s like, really deep if you think about it.
He’s just good-looking enough, just funny enough, and just talented enough to be where he is. But at the same time, he’s the absolute best person for the job that he’s doing. It’s very symbiotic, all this.
You can tell The Seacrest is a hard worker, and I like that. And you can tell he’s got a decent brain in his head, which is clutch.
But what makes him a freaking inspiration is that he shows us all at home that with a few highlights, a trip to H&M, and an assload of determination, anything is possible.
He is the American Dream come to life wearing a tight pair of faded designer jeans.
He makes me feel good. I can’t help it. And yeah, his jokes are one note (but his ad-libs are hee-larious, if a little predictable) and he’s cheesy, but to quote Randy Jackson, he’s working it out. And I think I could learn a lot from him.
In fact, I’d like to meet him. Just to bask in his awesomeness in the hopes that some of that magic might rub off on me.
Next time someone asks me that trite question about who, living or dead, I’d like to have dinner with, I know who I’m picking.
Aah, The Seacrest. You’ve won me over, too!
Go ahead, send me hate mail: [email protected]
